Bodrum Blue
by jago-ji
Summary: Maybe they don't remember that time years ago, but Ranger and Stephanie had met, and inspired, each other long before that fateful August day in that no-name diner when Ranger became Professor Higgins to Stephanie's Eliza. Here's that story, inspired by a Subaru commercial, of all things.
1. Chapter 1

Maybe they don't remember that time years ago, but Ranger and Stephanie had met, and inspired, each other long before that fateful August day in that no-name diner when Ranger became Professor Higgins to Stephanie's Eliza. Here's that story, inspired by a Subaru commercial, of all things.

_AN: As usual, I'm not making any money from my obsession with Ranger, just borrowing him for the occasional fantasy and fanfic story. I've been out of the fanfic loop for a while, first finishing This Never Happened II with my writing partners, and then writing my first original novel. _

_My debut book, Condor Moon, a romantic suspense novel, has just been published and is available for ereaders at most online retailers, and in paperback from Amazon. Just search for it by title or follow the links from my author's website, which is listed on my FF profile page. I hope you give it a try. Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy this little one-shot about our two favorite characters when they were matriculating teenagers._

Steam was roiling up off the asphalt of the roadway, clear evidence of both the high humidity and the simmering heat of another miserable late summer day in Newark. It was sure to rain later. The smell of that potentiality wafted through the thick humid Jersey air.

He was late for class, as usual, hence the speeding. As the young man sped down Ryders Lane, he kept an eye peeled for patrol cars, hyper aware of his surroundings. He couldn't afford another ticket. All his available funds went to tuition, and gas for the car.

As for his car, he looked through the cracked windshield out across the dented hood of his beat up Ford Taurus. The paint was mostly worn away, replaced with rough patches of rust and corrosion. He grimaced every time the sharp _bang_ of a backfire exploded through the muffler, jettisoning a black cloud of smoke along with noxious fumes. He couldn't even see out the rear window; it was covered with a thick layer of caked on dust. Between his job as a night watchman and his full load of classes, he never had any free time. Sighing to himself, he vowed when he made it big he would never drive anything but the finest of vehicles. Maybe something German like BMW or Porsche. And black. Clean shiny black. No more dirty rusted splotchy gray monstrosities like the piece of shit he was driving now.

He had plans. Oh, how he had plans. He dreamed of owning his own company. He wasn't quite sure what kind of company yet, but one day he would be sitting at the top, overseeing his own corporate empire. His employees would practically bow to him out of respect as he passed them in the hallways. Maybe there would be a hint of fear, too, in their eyes. But mainly respect. Because he would have built up his empire from nothing. Nothing but sheer determination, hard work and talent. He knew he had the business sense to create and run a large successful company, and he had the ruthless drive to take it all way to the top, to a Fortune 500 company. Someday.

But today, he was late for class. Business economics, to be exact. One of his more boring classes, though none really held his interest. He was paying good money, money he had worked long hard hours for, to be able to attend college. He pressed his foot more firmly on the accelerator, still keeping a watchful eye out for patrol cars.

And that's when he saw her. She was up the road, off to his right, standing with one foot on the curb and one foot in the street, her right arm stuck out and her thumb cocked at an angle.

He was nearly past her, still looking at her, when their eyes met. A jolt of electricity shot through him. He'd never seen eyes so blue. _Bodrum blue!_

His older cousin Tomás had described that color to him one day when they were walking along the beach in Miami. Five years ago, when he was fourteen, he'd been sent to Florida to live with his grandparents because he had started getting into trouble with the neighborhood gangs in Newark. His cousin, an Army Ranger, would stop by their grandparents' house when he was in between tours of duty and spend time with his younger cousin, who wanted to be just like him when he grew up.

Tomás used to talk about this one particular place in Turkey that was close to where he'd been stationed. Bodrum was a small seaside village along the Aegean Sea, and it was where he'd lost his heart to a beautiful local girl. He would get a faraway look in his eyes when he talked about her and the town where they met, saying the color of the ocean there was different than any other color he'd ever seen. It was the deepest and most brilliant of blues, and it was the exact color of his girl's incredible blue eyes. He called her his Bodrum babe. And as much as he loved her, he knew he couldn't promise her a life with him because as an Army Ranger, he never knew when the next mission might be his last. And he wouldn't put someone he loved through that agony.

The young boy had absorbed everything his uncle told him about life, and especially about girls. And he had never forgotten about Tomás's Bodrum babe.

He slammed on the brakes.

He would be really late for class, but this couldn't wait. _She_ couldn't wait.

Whipping his head around, he saw that she was running toward his car. He was mesmerized by her. When he could finally take his eyes off of hers, he took in the rest of her. She was slim, of average height, with long straight brown hair. She was wearing a crisp white long-sleeved blouse tucked into a tight black pencil skirt, which left her long shapely legs exposed. As she approached the passenger door, he leaned over and opened it for her.

She jumped in, breathless but talking a mile a minute. "Thanks for stopping. I've never hitched a ride before, but my car broke down and I've been walking for miles. I'm going to be late for this special seminar..."

She'd just shut the passenger door and looked over at the young man behind the driver's wheel. Her rambling stopped mid-sentence, leaving her mouth hanging open, and she twisted her neck slightly, as if to scratch an itch.

She couldn't stop staring at him. He was well-built, but not overly so, and he had the deepest, darkest brown eyes she had ever gazed into. His dark hair was long enough to brush his shoulders, and it was so silky and shiny she wanted to reach over and touch it. And while she was fantasizing about stroking his hair, she also imagined stroking his smooth chocolaty cheek. His flawless skin was the color of the mocha latte she had chugged down earlier that morning. He was without a doubt the sexiest guy she'd ever seen. Her mouth was still hanging open and she was staring at him, unable to look away.

He was doing the same thing, but of course his mouth was closed, though the beginning of a grin was pulling up the corners a bit.

"I...uh... I... um..." she stammered.

Unbidden, the grin broke out across his face, showcasing one of his best features, his 200-watt smile. Even her stammering stopped as she continued to stare.

"Where are you headed?" he asked, amazed his voice was steady and hadn't cracked. His heart was beating fast and his mouth was so dry, he was surprised he could maintain his cool. Her eyes were definitely Bodrum blue, and he was thunderstruck. Normally, he'd be staring at her bare legs or her stiletto heels, but he couldn't get past those blue eyes.

"Um... the university," she managed.

"Rutgers?"

In answer, her head bobbed up and down a few times.

"That's where I'm going," he said.

"Good," was the extent of her ability to speak.

They both continued to stare at each other until she quietly said, "Shouldn't we be going?"

The 200-watt smile was back in force. Without a word he put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb into traffic. There was a loud _bang,_ and plume of black smoke boiled up from the back of the car. His head gave a slight shake and he gritted his teeth, but didn't say anything. He let his eyes slide to the right. She wasn't laughing at him, but she was definitely smiling.

"Do you go to Rutgers?" he asked, glancing her way, unable to keep from looking at her. She wasn't classically beautiful, but she was definitely stare-worthy. She had an energy about her that was contagious, and she couldn't seem to sit still. Her skin was very light, almost porcelain-like, with no freckles or blemishes to mar it. Her brown hair was sleek and straight, and fell like a waterfall around her shoulders. The color contrast of her dark brown hair made her pale skin look luminous. He had to resist the temptation to touch her hair or stroke her cheek. And not only were her eyes the bluest he'd ever seen, they also sparkled when she smiled. He didn't want to take his eyes off of her.

In answer to his question, she gave a slight head shake. "No. But there's a guy speaking there today that I want to hear. He's big in the fashion industry."

"Are you in the fashion business?"

"Not yet." She dipped her head so he couldn't see her timid grin. She was taken aback that he thought she might have some important job in fashion. She was only a sophomore at Douglass College, and not doing very well at that.

"What are you studying at Rutgers?" she asked, trying to steer him away from asking her any more embarrassing questions about herself.

"Business." he said. _Though maybe not for much longer_, he thought. He had no desire to go to his class at the moment.

"Ah. A future business tycoon?" she teased.

"You say that like it's something bad," he rejoined.

"Not at all. It's just that... the future seems so far away. How are we supposed to know now what we want to be when we're grown up? There are so many possibilities and so much can happen between now and then. I don't think I'm ready to decide on something that I could be spending the rest of my life doing."

"Isn't that what college is for? To try things out and see if you like them?" he asked.

"Not according to my parents. They think I should have it figured out already," she said, rolling her eyes. "At the rate I'm going, I don't think I ever will."

"Would that be so bad?"

"What? Just drift along from job to job? Trying things out?" she said, throwing his own words back at him.

"It's better than settling for something you don't like. That would be the kiss of death. Especially for someone like you."

"You don't even know me."

"I know enough to know you should never be tied down. You seem like the type of person who needs to stretch her wings. To get out there and fly."

_Maybe he did know her_, she mused. She reached up as if to smooth down her hair, though it was lying perfectly and smoothly in place, for once. She'd spent the better part of an hour this morning straightening her normally curly hair so that she would look polished and chic for the fashion seminar.

"Fly, huh? So, you think I should be... what? A pilot? An astronaut?" she quizzed. "Or a bird? Maybe Wonder Woman?" She gave a low throaty chuckle at her last words.

"I could see you as Wonder Woman." They both grinned. "Your name doesn't happen to be Diana, does it? As in Diana Prince," he quipped, hoping to learn her name.

She grinned again and shook her head, but didn't answer him. "As for you, you are definitely not Clark Kent. You look too confident to be a mild mannered reporter," she joked, shifting in her seat to look at him full on. "You're more like... Bruce Wayne. A young tortured soul intent on conquering his demons and the bad guys, quietly and ruthlessly."

"Ruthless?" he remarked, raising one eyebrow at her.

"Only toward the bad guys," she clarified. "I'm sure you are very kind to the good guys."

"You're sure?" he quipped. ''Looks like I have my life's work cut out for me, being Batman and all. And with you as Wonder Woman..."

"As if..." she gave an undignified snort. "The one time I tried to fly, I fell off the garage and broke my arm." She rubbed her left elbow for emphasis.

He glanced over at her. "That was just because you didn't have your Lasso of Truth with you, or maybe it was your golden bracelets," he said, reaching out and touching the bangle she was wearing on her left wrist. A spark tickled his fingers as their skin touched. He couldn't blame it on static electricity with the high humidity that drenched the air.

She rubbed her wrist as if she, too, had felt the spark of electricity when they touched. "I'll try to remember to keep both of them with me from now on out. Never know when you might need to fly or battle an enemy," she bantered. "But when I'm not being a superhero, what am I? What do I do with my life?" she asked, more to herself than to the young man sitting next to her.

He gave her a thoughtful look. "You should do whatever turns you on." And then a sly grin crossed his face as he asked, "What _does_ turn you on?"

Her cheeks turned bright red. There was one thing that she knew turned her on, and he was sitting right next to her. She replied, a little coyly, "I like anything mocha latte." She tilted her head back and laughed, as if what she'd said was the funniest thing in the world.

He liked hearing her laugh. It was a genuine hearty laugh, not the tittering most teenaged girls affected. In fact, he liked everything about her, the way she looked, the direct way she spoke her thoughts, even the way she smelled.

As they turned onto the street into the Rutgers campus, he asked, "Where do you need to go?"

"The Bove Auditorium," she replied.

"It's right up ahead," he said, disappointment in his voice, as the car in front of them came to a stop.

The campus was normally a busy place, but today it was more than busy. Hundreds of people lined the sidewalks and the main street was clogged with vehicles. Newark police officers were out in force doing double duty controlling the crowd and directing traffic. It was stop and go all the way to the auditorium.

"It's normally not this crowded," he said. "This speaker you are going to hear must be someone really big to draw this many people."

"He is THE name in fashion right now. His designs are all the rage. I just _had_ to come. And it looks like half of Jersey did, too." The young woman grabbed her purse and put her hand on the door handle. "You can let me out here. I can probably get there faster walking. Thanks for the lift," she said.

"Wait!" he almost shouted. In a panic, the young man put his hand on her arm. "What's your name? And your phone number? Maybe we can get together for coffee sometime?" That one quick touch of her skin sent a current of electricity through him and made the back of his neck tingle. He couldn't just let her walk out of his life. "I'll even buy you a mocha latte," he offered, his full on smile in force.

She laughed again but hesitated. "I'm going to be late. Again, thanks for giving me a ride. You saved my life." She pushed open the door, got out and started walking briskly down the street.

He almost leaped out of his car to follow her, but at that moment there was a break in traffic, and he was able to move forward. He pulled ahead of her, keeping her in sight, but the forward movement didn't last long. Traffic stopped again. The young woman stepped off the curb and dashed in back of his car. Grinning, he watched as she wrote her phone number in the caked on dust covering his back window. And then she slipped into the crowd.

He was still grinning as he quickly found a place to park near the building where his class was held. He was definitely late. He had to run. Finding a place in the back of the room, he quietly slid into a seat, hoping the professor hadn't noticed his tardy entrance. The long lecture went by without his notice. He was preoccupied with thoughts of a certain blue-eyed girl. When the class ended, he was the first one out the door.

As he strode across the parking lot, there was a terrific _craaack_ of thunder, and lightning lit up the sky. Within seconds, a torrential downpour started.

He looked on in horror as sheets of rain sluiced the dirt from his car and from his back window. And along with it, his Bodrum babe's phone number. Without thinking, he started running back toward the auditorium and immediately slipped in a large puddle. His pride bruised and his clothes covered in mud, he got up and continued his race across the field. The rain came down even harder, but he made it across campus in record time. By the time he reached his destination the rain had slowed to a light drizzle.

The crowd had been waiting inside Bove Auditorium for the thunderstorm to pass, and they now poured out of the building. Soon the rain-slick plaza was filled with hundreds of well-dressed and bustling people. He searched the milling masses for her, looking for her blue eyes and long straight brown hair. Many people carried umbrellas making it difficult to spot anyone. His clothes still covered in mud and his hair dripping wet, he pushed his way through the throng and stopped dozens of girls, but none of them were her. He was getting desperate as the people shoved by him trying to make their way to the waiting cars and cabs parked on the street in front of the auditorium. He couldn't lose her. He just couldn't.

Just then, the crowd of people parted and a man in an Army dress uniform walked by. He stood tall and proud, his uniform immaculate even though a light rain was still coming down. He didn't have to push or shove. People automatically made room for him to pass. He reminded the young man of his cousin. A flash of envy and then wistfulness shot through him as he watched the quiet unpretentious soldier get into a waiting SUV. The thought flashed through his mind, and not for the first time, that _that_ was what he wanted to be doing, not wasting his time going to classes that meant nothing to him.

The SUV drove away and the young man returned to his quest. The crowd had thinned out and still he couldn't find her. His heart was beating hard at the thought that he'd never see her again. Even though she'd only been in his life for a few minutes, he knew she was special. She was different. She made him feel different. She made him feel good.

He made his way to the curb and watched each person get into the waiting vehicles. There were only a couple dozen people left on the plaza. None of them was the girl with the Bodrum blue eyes. When the last person was gone, he turned toward the auditorium and even through the light drizzle of rain, he could see through the double glass doors into the lobby, and she wasn't there either. Dejected, he started the long trek back across campus.

Just before he left the sidewalk to go down a side path, something made him turn around. Several vehicles were motoring down the street on the other side of the median. And there she was...in the back seat of a minivan filled with giggling girls. The van was about to turn the corner. Her face was pressed up against the window, her Bodrum blue eyes focused on his brown eyes, a halo of bouncing brown curls framed her pale face. Then the van rounded the corner and was gone.

The next day, the young man walked in to the local US Army recruiting office. 

_AN: And so begins Ranger's journey in the military. I hope you liked my one-shot. And for another shameless plug, don't forget to check out my debut novel, Condor Moon, at any online book retailer. _


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Several of you, and especially Sophiepicklegirl, pleaded with me to write a follow-up to the one-shot, showing Ranger and Stephanie when they finally met up again as adults. This is that story. Still not making any money from this, just borrowing Higgins and Doolittle for an encore._

* * *

She pulled open the diner door and stepped outside, back into the sweltering sauna that passed for air in Jersey during the late summer. Shimmering ribbons of heat waves rose up from the asphalt, giving everything a mirage-like feel. With a deep sigh, she walked down the hot pavement to the brown Nova parked on the street in front of the diner, stumbling a little as she stepped off the curb.

It's just the heat, she told herself. But she'd felt it. A slight twinge in her heart; a skipped beat that threw her off balance. She opened the car door and sat down heavily on the driver's seat, feeling the heat of the cushion burn the backs of her legs. Keeping her eyes straight ahead, not daring to look back in case he walked out of the diner, she pulled into traffic.

A trickle of sweat ran down the side of her face and dripped off her jaw, staining her red silk blouse. A car's blaring horn warned her that she had drifted out of her lane, and she yanked the wheel to the right, thrusting her left hand out the window, middle finger up, in the Jersey salute of acknowledgment. Shaken, she turned down a side street, pulled over to the curb and put the brake on. More moisture flowed down her cheek, but this time it wasn't sweat. Letting her head fall forward, she rested it against the steering wheel. She sat like that for a while as long forgotten memories surfaced. Memories of another hot, muggy summer day and a chance meeting with a man whose skin was the color of rich mocha latte.

Why now? Why had he come back into her life now?

She had waited months for him to call her back, but he never did. Night after night, she sat by the phone, refusing to go out when her friends tried to drag her to yet another frat party or to a movie or just to go out for a burger and fries. She was so sure he 'd call. They'd had a connection. She'd felt it and she knew he had, too. But, there had been another time she'd felt a connection with a guy, had given him her virginity even, and he had never called her back either.

Another hard lesson learned. Eventually, she had put that sexy, mocha latte-skinned young man out of her mind and got on with her life. But a small part of her heart had hardened, scarred by rejection and pain.

She had pictured him as a successful business tycoon by now. After all, ten years had gone by. The man that sat across from her today at the diner was not what she had pictured. Obviously, his life hadn't gone the way either of them had imagined.

She shook her head as if to rouse herself and picked up the folder lying on the passenger seat. Opening it, she stared down at the small picture stapled to the top of the sheaves of paper within. A twinge of pain pulled at mental scar tissue as she remembered how Joseph Morelli had not only broke her heart, he had humiliated her in front of the entire Burg by writing about her "deflowering" on the bathroom wall of Mario's Sub Shop.

Finally, though, she had a chance to get even with Morelli. And if she had to use another man who had broken her heart once, too, well, she would do it without a second look back. The old trusting, naive Stephanie Plum was gone, replaced with a hard-hearted, take no prisoners, soon-to-be pistol-packing, official bond enforcement agent of the Vincent Plum Bail Bonds Company.

The ugly little car didn't seem quite as dreary now. Things were looking up. She had someone who was going to teach her the ropes of this bounty hunter thing and soon, she'd be rolling in dough. $10,000. That would go a long way toward a buying a decent car and kicking this POS to the curb. She knew she could find Morelli. She could feel it in her bones, despite what... what had he called himself?

Ranger. What a name! He was just a bounty hunter like herself, working for her perv of a cousin, Vinnie. Who did he think he was? The Lone Ranger out to make the world safe for the little people? She hadn't known his name back then, but she had fantasized that it was something romantic like Antonio Banderas or Ricardo Montalban. Not _Ranger_. Did he have a sidekick like Tonto following him around, or maybe a dwarf who shouted "_De perp. De perp_"? He certainly wasn't the glamorous and rich Bruce Wayne aka Batman that she had joked about with him all those years ago.

It didn't matter anymore. He hadn't remembered her. She obviously had meant nothing to him and now, he would mean nothing to her, except as a means to get Joe Morelli. When he told her he didn't think she could bring Morelli in, a feeling had crept over her, a fierce determination to succeed at all cost. She would show them both what she was made of; she would show the Burg what she was made of.

She wiped away the last of her tears and took the brake off. It was time to see a man about a gun.

* * *

He sat at the table for a long time. Each time the waitress came near, he shot her a glance that sent her scurrying back behind the counter. Otherwise, his face was a blank, giving away none of the roiling emotion that was tearing him up inside.

He couldn't believe it was her. He couldn't believe that she had breezed into his life a second time. His Bodrum Babe! She was as beautiful as ever, her incredible blue eyes burning a hole straight into his soul. Her brown hair was a riot of soft curls floating around her head and shoulders, just like that last glimpse he'd had of her, as the van she was in drove away from him and out of his life.

Thoughts of her had eaten away at him for months, until the rigors of Army boot camp had wiped all thoughts of his past from his mind. He learned to focus on the present and plan for the future. The past was just that—the past. It had no bearing on his life. He had plans. Big plans. And they were coming together nicely.

He had established himself in Trenton, where no one knew him. He could rewrite himself any way he chose. His experiences in the Army had shown him that a tough exterior, a commanding presence, was needed if you wanted the world to take you seriously. And he wanted to be taken seriously. He was slowly building a reputation as a tough guy, a badass bounty hunter who refused to back down from any situation, any confrontation.

Right now, he only had a small office in a nondescript building, and no staff to speak of, but plans were in the works for the purchase of an entire building. He already had it picked out. A solid seven-story brick building over on Haywood Street, in the center of town. But he needed more capital for the down payment and rehab. He was in negotiations for a long-term partnership, but the partners he was considering were a risky proposition.

They demanded complete anonymity, and a signed contract from him that required him to be available for their special projects. Those special projects required every bit of training and experience he had gained while serving as a US Army Ranger.

He didn't mind doing black ops missions for them, as long as they would financially back his business and agree to back off from "advising" him in its operations. He was insisting on complete control of the company. As long as they kept the money flowing his way, he would be content with the proposed partnership.

A glance out the diner window revealed one of the perks of merging with this top secret firm. A gleaming brand new black BMW limited production 850 Ci. He also had at his disposal a brand new Bronco, also black, complete with state-of-the-art Bird Dog tracking system. More perks were under negotiation. Soon. Soon, he would head up the corporate empire he had always envisioned running.

And then she came back into his life. The one woman he'd never been able to completely erase from his mind. That was ten years ago. He had pictured her as a successful fashion designer by now. Obviously, her life hadn't gone quite the way either of them had imagined.

He remembered telling her she should stretch her wings and fly. They had joked about being Batman and Wonder Woman. She hadn't been far off when she described him as a tortured soul conquering his demons. She'd also called him ruthless. Maybe not back then, but now, that wasn't far off the mark. The last ten years had taken its toll on him. The things he'd seen, the things he'd done. He blew out a puff of air.

If he had changed from that college kid he used to be, so had she. She had been shy and timid, but today, she had shown a tougher side, a harder side. Life hadn't been easy for her, either.

And then, he had made a lame joke about him being Professor Henry Higgins and her being Eliza Doolittle. First, a comic book reference and then historic fiction; both were literary references, but still... he groaned inwardly.

Well, he could still help her to fly, but maybe not as Wonder Woman or as My Fair Lady. Neither role model seemed quite appropriate for the gun-toting bounty hunter she needed to become if she was to catch Morelli. He shook his head. She didn't have a clue what she was doing. She also didn't have a chance in hell at bringing Morelli in. But maybe he could help her stay alive and in one piece.

Why now? Why had she dropped into his life now? His life wasn't his own and wouldn't be for several years to come.

Once this partnership was finalized, he'd have the necessary capital to begin RangeMan Enterprises. He would be up to his ears in building the new company from scratch. Also, he could be called up and have to go overseas at the drop of a hat. The security business along with bounty hunting was dangerous enough, but his covert black ops missions were another level of danger all unto themselves. There was always the chance he wouldn't return and no one, not even his family, would ever know what had happened to him. That was another part of the contract. Complete secrecy, in perpetuity.

There was no way he could allow himself to get involved in a relationship. Not now. Maybe not ever. He inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly. Since she hadn't recognized him, he could never let her know. His Bodrum Babe would have to be just another secret, a part of his past that never existed.

He stood up, threw down some bills and strode out of the diner. It was time to see a man about a gun for his Babe.

* * *

_AN: I hoped you enjoyed this brief glimpse into Ranger and Steph's lives. If you liked this story, why don't you check out my debut novel, Condor Moon. Just follow the link on my profile page to my website or look up Condor Moon online at your favorite book retailer. _


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: This is the final chapter of what was supposed to be a one-shot. You'll have to let your imagination run wild if you want more of the story. While I always thank JE for her creation of the characters that I enjoy borrowing (and not making any profit from), I would like to thank _sonomom_ for suggesting the name for Evan Ascher._

* * *

Brushing leaves, clods of dirt and several disgustingly sticky clumps of something from her t-shirt and jeans, Steph crawled out from under the trailer only to see the rapidly retreating form of Simon Diggery, her current bail bond skip, sprinting into the nearby woods.

She got to her feet, debating whether to go after the spry little gravedigger. The tangled jungle of greenery he'd disappeared into was dark and foreboding and reminded her of creepy cannabalistic fairy tales like little Red Riding Hood and Hansel and Gretel. She shook her head. She was hot and sweaty and exhausted from chasing Diggery half the morning. There was no way she was going to follow him into his own personal Black Forest. If he kept giant snakes in his trailer, no telling what he had hiding in the woods behind his property.

She turned the corner of Diggery's double-wide trailer only to see a bunch of scraggly kids climbing all over her car. She yelled for them to get off and sprinted to the front of the unmowed yard, tripping over hidden bits of broken toys, tools and, heaven forbid, what other disgusting things were buried under the long grass and weeds. The raggedy throng of skinny, disheveled children scattered in every direction, disappearing quickly into the brush that surrounded the unkempt property.

As she limped the rest of the way to her car, she stopped to pick up a piece of broken antennae and a side mirror the kids had knocked off her car. Not that it really made that much of a difference to the resale value, her current mode of transportation wasn't much of a looker. It was an older model Ford Focus that had seen better days. At one time the car had been blue, but the original paint was now obscured by large Rorschach-like gray blotches and corroded rust spots.

She unlocked the driver's door and slid behind the wheel, tossing the car remnants into the back seat. With one last look at Diggery's dilapidated trailer, she backed out to the road, having to stick her head out of the window to see, since the rear window was covered in a thick layer of dust. She began the long drive back into town. She was still on the backcountry roads when her cell phone chimed its current ringtone "Where Dreams Go To Die." It matched her current mood.

Digging her phone out of her purse, she saw the caller ID. She immediately connected and shouted loudly, "The answer's _no_. An emphatic N. O. And tell Vinnie to go screw himself." The caller was Connie Rosolli, her boss's office manager. Vinnie had been pestering Connie to call Steph every few hours to see if she had nabbed Diggery yet, as the due date on his bail bond was up tomorrow.

"No luck, huh?" Connie said, unnecessarily.

Steph rolled her eyes, even though Connie couldn't see her. "I've been trying for two weeks now to bring that little weasel in, but it's impossible. He knows me too well. He knows I won't shoot him, though God knows I'd like to," she muttered the last part, looking down at the ruins of her black Rangers t-shirt. To make the day just perfect, she saw a new rip in her favorite pair of jeans. With a huff, she said tersely, "Tell Vinnie to give Simon Diggery to someone else. I'm not dealing with him... ever again." She held the phone away from her ear as Vinnie came on the line, yelling orders and shouting obscenities to her.

"You worthless piece of ... Why haven't you brought that skinny bastard in yet? It's a lousy chickenshit case. My ninety-two year old mother who uses a walker and breathes with an oxygen tank could have nabbed Diggery by now. Why do I even pay you? You've been a bounty hunter for how many fucking years now? Haven't you learned a damned thing? Be a professional, for chrissake! Bring me Diggery!"

Frustrated, tired, covered in dried mud, with rivulets of sweat running down her neck and between her breasts, she matched Vinnie in volume and nasty tone of voice, shouting, "You can't talk to me like that, you... you... duck screwing pervert. I don't have to take it. _I quit_. Do you hear me, Vinnie? **I quit!**"

She threw the phone across the seat where it landed upright against the passenger door. She could hear Vinnie ranting and raving, but ignored it and kept driving down the empty country road. Eventually, the phone went dark and silent. Steph inhaled a huge gulp of air.

It was the third time this month that she had quit, but the first two times she'd only said those words to Connie, and only in anger and frustration. Did she mean really them this time?

Vinnie was right. She'd been a bond enforcement agent for several years now, and she still wasn't very good at it. She didn't have that ruthless mindset that a bounty hunter needed to have. Her high capture rate was due mainly to luck and her connections in the Burg. It had actually been fun for a while, a challenge to see if she could really do it.

Everyone had been against her taking the job, everyone that is, except Ranger. And even he'd thought she wouldn't last. But she had brought in her first FTA, Joe Morelli, though it had been touch and go there for a while. And she had hung in there, bringing in skip after skip, although at high cost to her peace of mind, sometimes. Not to mention the loss of skin, hair, clothes, cars, apartments and even her sanity, at times. Was it worth it?

Steph sighed deeply. What else could she do? She certainly would never stoop to working at the button factory or tampon plant as her mother kept pleading with her to do. She had tried to quit bounty hunting before and worked briefly at a bunch of other jobs. They'd all ended in disaster. What had ever happened to that young idealist who wanted to take the fashion industry by storm? She let out a snort. That gullible girl had got as far as being a buyer of cheap, outdated lingerie for a two-bit department store, and then she'd been sacked when the store went under. Still, she dreamed.

But that life of high fashion was just a dream. She had to pay the rent, and bounty hunting was her best option. She reached over and snatched her phone up, hitting redial. Nothing happened. Looking closely at the screen, she could see there was no signal. Damn Diggery for living so far out of town that even cell phones didn't work.

* * *

He'd always hated D.C. Too crowded, too many bureaucrats, too many bad memories. But after today, he would never have to step foot in the city again. He smiled to himself as the elevator door opened onto the wide expanse of the underground garage. His Porsche was just where he'd parked it two hours ago.

As he exited the garage, it started to rain, a summer thunderstorm. He turned on the windshield wipers and drove in front of the unmarked building he'd just left. No one would ever guess what went on in that building, what high level decisions were made there on a daily, and nightly, basis. For the past eight years, his fate had revolved around those decisions, but no more. Unconsciously, he touched the left breast pocket of the black suit he wore. The papers that were securely folded there held his freedom–freedom from being called in the middle of the night and given only minutes to pack and be ready to transport, via an unmarked vehicle or a helo landing on the roof of RangeMan. It also meant freedom from his silent, but ever-present partners. The downside was that it would mean no more infusion of cash for his now very successful security business, but he didn't need it anymore.

RangeMan had been solidly in the black for several years now, way ahead of schedule. The offices in Atlanta, Boston and Miami were doing great, and three new offices were set to open early next year. His long dreamed of corporate empire was now a reality, and when he strode through the hallways of any of his offices, employees showed him the respect he had earned. With a few, there was also some fear when they dared to look him in the eye, but mostly what he saw and what he felt from his employees was a respectful awe.

While he actively discouraged gossip, he knew they talked about him and the rumors of his exploits, his business conquests and even, to some extent, the darker side of his life—the black ops missions—though no one ever seemed to have any details or firsthand knowledge. Lack of facts never stopped the rumor mill. Tank kept him apprised of most of the stories told about him and most he found amusing. The few he didn't, he made sure were quickly squelched.

As he left D.C. and headed back to Trenton, he engaged the vehicle's cruise control and settled in for the journey home. Home. He'd never really considered anyplace home. He'd never let himself get too comfortable, too complacent. But now, for the first time since he had enlisted, he was a completely free man. It felt good. He was getting too old for missions, and he no longer had any interest in chasing down FTAs. He liked the business side of RangeMan. He also was looking forward to spending more time on personal pursuits.

He settled further into the driver's seat and began making plans for the future, his own future, a future outside of work. Something he'd never felt comfortable doing before. It had been a long time coming, and he didn't want to waste another minute with his life on hold.

* * *

A few minutes and ten miles later, just before she hit the turnoff that would take her to the interstate and back to civilization, Steph spotted a car up ahead with its hood up. It was a Mercedes convertible, a silver Cabriolet and brand new one at that. A middle-aged woman stepped out into the road and starting waving her arms as Steph got closer. Steph didn't see anyone else around and the road was deserted. She hadn't passed another vehicle since she'd left Diggery's trailer.

With another deep sigh, Steph pulled her Ford Focus in behind the Mercedes and set the brake. The woman immediately strode toward her, relief evident in her face. She was wearing an ivory silk business suit and had on matching stiletto heels. Her dark red hair was swept up in a chignon that lay against the nape of her neck, though a few tendrils of hair had escaped and were plastered to her neck. There were no trees along the road to offer any shade, and it was a very hot muggy summer day. Steph opened her car door and stepped out into the heat.

"Thank you so much for stopping," the woman cried, closing the distance between she and Steph. "I've been stranded here forever and I'm about to perish in this swamp." She was fanning herself with a folded-up map and did indeed look in bad shape. Her face was a blotchy red and rivulets of sweat were running down her face and neck, staining her silk blouse. She stuck out her hand, and Steph reluctantly shook it.

"I'm Alicia," she said, enunciating each syllable of her first name very distinctly, ending with _cee-ah_, not _sha._ "Alicia Driscoll." She continued shaking Steph's hand until Steph introduced herself.

"I'm Stephanie Plum," Steph replied and took a step toward the silver convertible. "I didn't think Mercedes ever broke down," she said, admiring the sleek, shiny car in front of her.

Alicia let out a dainty sigh. "The car's brand new and the dealer advised me against leaving the City until the car was broken in, but I simply had to come today," she said. "I have a meeting with an important client, and it's imperative that I see him today. I was on my way to his house when the car simply died. And to make matters worse, I can't pick up any signal on my phone. I knew I'd be in the country, but I'd forgotten how... _primitive _it was out here." She glanced apprehensively toward the nearby woods and clasped her arms around her torso as if she were cold, though it had to be at least 100 degrees out.

Steph's sigh wasn't nearly so dainty as she gustily exhaled. "My phone isn't working either..." she replied, and then muttered under her breath, "thank God for small favors." At least Vinnie couldn't yell at her for a little while.

The woman looked pleadingly at Stephanie. "I can't miss this meeting. I'm right up against a deadline..." She reached out and laid her hand on Steph's arm.

Steph gave another once over at the well-dressed woman and then at the shiny new Mercedes. Nodding, she offered, "I can give you a ride to the nearest store with a phone or... " She looked questioningly at the woman. "How far away is your meeting?"

"Not far. Not far at all," Alicia assured Steph, squeezing her arm once before letting go. "Just a few miles, but too far to walk in these," she said, looking down at her pair of cream-colored Mui Mui's with five-inch crystal heels that had to have cost her more than Steph made in an entire month.

"Okay, but I'll warn you, my car isn't nearly as nice as yours."

"But yours runs," she laughed as she turned back to the Mercedes. "Let me get my things."

After tucking a large leather portfolio case in the back seat, Alicia gingerly settled herself into the well-worn vinyl passenger seat of the Ford Focus. She then directed Steph a few miles down the country road to an imposing arched wrought iron and stone gate. There was a speaker box with a red button attached to the left side of the stone pillar. At Alicia's finger wave, Steph pressed the button.

"May I ask who's calling?" an accented voice echoed from the speaker. It sounded either British or Australian to Steph. She didn't have much exposure to accents other than Brooklyn or Bronx. She, of course, had no accent. Just good ole Jersey nasal twang.

"I'm Stephanie Plum, and I'm here with Alicia Driscoll," she called out loudly, hoping the speaker could pick up her voice.

The double gates slowly swung open without a creak or a squeak. Steph drove through and continued down a gravel lane lined with a canopy of oak trees. She could see acres and acres of green lawn dotted with small flower gardens and statues, but there was no house in sight. The lane curved around a low hill and suddenly, there it was. Not a house, but a mansion. It was three stories high and built out of gray and white stone. There were a gazillion windows peeking out from the ivy-covered stone edifice. It looked like an ancient but ritzy manor one would see in a British historical documentary. It looked like money and lots of it.

A brand new Subaru Forester was just pulling away from the front of the mansion as Steph drove up behind it. She stopped her car across from a large fountain featuring two frolicking marble dolphins with water pouring out of their mouths. She was almost embarrassed to be seen in such a poor excuse for a vehicle and imagined Alicia was definitely uncomfortable. Alicia quickly gathered up her purse and turned to thank Steph. Before she could finish her effusive litany of gratitude, an older white-haired gentleman in a butler's uniform appeared at the passenger window.

Alicia rolled down the window. "I'm so sorry for my tardiness, Bailey. My car broke down and Ms. Plum was kind enough to give me a ride. I hope Mr. Ascher wasn't too inconvenienced?"

The butler bent down to peer into the window at both women and, in a monotone voice, said, "Mr. Ascher was concerned for your welfare, Ms. Driscoll. He invites you and Ms. Plum to meet with him in the east study." He opened her door and waited for Alicia to exit the car. He then helped her remove her leather case from Steph's back seat.

Steph glanced down at her clothes, taking in the dried mud covering her jeans and the stains from who knew what on her t-shirt. She certainly wasn't dressed for the likes of this place. But Bailey, the butler, came round the car and opened her door as well. Reluctantly, Steph got out, fruitlessly trying to brush the dirt and leaves from her clothes. With a slight bow, Bailey gestured for her to follow Alicia Driscoll up the steps into the house.

When Steph stepped into the grand foyer, her jaw hit her chest. Grand was definitely the word for it. The foyer was two stories high with a humongous crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There was a curved wooden bannister that swept across two-thirds of the back wall rising to what looked liked a ballroom upstairs. The floor underneath her grimy tennis shoes was tiled with black and white checkered marble.

Alicia watched Steph's awed reaction to the grandeur of the place and laughed, saying, "You ain't seen nuttin yet." She waggled her eyebrows and made a funny face not at all in keeping with her elegant appearance, but it served to put Steph more at ease.

She linked arms with Steph as Bailey led them down a wide hallway that was furnished with small tables and upholstered benches, with oil paintings hanging on the lushly papered walls. While they walked, she told Steph a little about the history of the estate. She seemed to be quite familiar with the place. After walking for a couple of miles-at least that's what it felt like to Steph-the butler stopped in front of an enormous carved wooden door. With a flourish, he opened the door and stepped in ahead of the women, clearing his throat as he did so.

"Ms. Alicia Driscoll and Ms. Stephanie Plum, sir," he announced.

Alicia brushed past him and into the room, while Steph slowly sidled past Bailey. She tried to keep her mouth closed this time as she took in the floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelves, the Persian rug and the line of enameled pendant lights that ran across the 12-foot-high ceiling. She was admiring shelf after shelf of leather-bound books when a movement at the end of the room caught her attention. Behind a huge wooden desk, a high-backed red Moroccan leather chair swiveled forward revealing a thin, middle-aged man sporting a shock of pure white hair that was spiked up from his elegantly shaped head. He stood up and buttoned his Armani jacket, smiling as Alicia strode toward him.

"Evan," Alicia cried, placing her case next to the desk and extending her hand to the man. "I apologize profusely for being late. My car broke down and phones don't seem to work in this infernal countrified place you choose to live in."

Steph gasped as she recognized the man behind the desk. Evan Ascher. THE Evan Ascher. Fashion mogul. Creator of the long-standing _Sleek_ look and the latest rage, the _Tomboy_. He was the man behind the world's most well known and coveted brands of high fashion clothes. For the last decade, he decided what the VIPs and celebrities would be wearing each year. Steph had followed his meteoric rise to fame since she'd been in college.

She smiled to herself remembering him speaking at a seminar she'd attended nearly fifteen years ago. He'd just made a name for himself with the _Sleek_ look, a new line of tailored and structured clothing with his signature elegant flair. She'd jumped on the Ascher bandwagon along with the rest of the world. That was when she was still dreaming of a career in fashion. But that dream crashed and burned when she got pink slipped from her first and last professional job in fashion, such as it was.

Evan and Alicia were greeting each other, but soon, Evan stepped forward to offer his hand to Steph. She closed her eyes for a split second, imagining the impression she'd make on her lifelong idol, wearing dirt-encrusted, torn jeans and a faded, stained Rangers t-shirt. She opened her eyes and put on a big smile as she grasped his hand.

"Mr. Ascher, it's a pleasure to meet you. I've followed your career for years," she gushed, pumping his hand up and down. "The Tomboy look you introduced two years ago was groundbreaking. Men's suits tailored for a woman's body. I have your Rat Pack suit in classic black and in navy." She finally let go of his hand and dropped her gaze, suddenly embarrassed.

He smiled indulgently and then said, "Ms. Plum, Alicia tells me you saved her life. Thank you so much for your Good Samaritan action. I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to her while she was coming here on my account. Won't you please have a seat and enjoy some refreshments?" Evan glanced up at Bailey, and the butler nodded and retreated out the door, closing it with barely a _snick._

Stephanie demurred. "I just gave her a lift. Anyone would, especially in this heat," she mumbled. The upholstered chairs in the room looked like they cost a fortune, and she didn't want to ruin them with her dirty clothes. "You have a lovely home, but I am not dressed for such elegant surroundings. Please excuse my appearance. I was ...um...working, and things got a bit...um...messy."

"Don't give it another thought." Evan waved her reluctance aside and pulled another chair up to his desk. "Please, have a seat. And pray tell, what kind of work do you do, my dear?" he asked, eyeing her stained t-shirt and mud-encrusted jeans.

Stephanie lowered her rear to the edge of the seat, trying to make as little contact as possible with the chair's luxurious fabric. She folded her hands in her lap to keep from fidgeting and replied, "I'm a bond enforcement agent. I normally work in Trenton, but occasionally my job requires me to travel. And I frequently find myself in all sorts of... um... unusual situations." She gestured to her clothes.

"How intriguing. I've never met a real live bounty hunter before. It must be a dangerous occupation. And you must be a formidable woman, Ms. Plum. I commend your spirit and your daring. How long have you been in this line of work?"

"Please, call me Stephanie. As for my job, I think today was my last day." Embarrassed by that admission, Steph looked down at her hands, still clasped tightly in her lap.

"Your last day? Well, I can't imagine what exciting things you might be doing next. How do you top chasing down bad guys and making the world a safer place for the rest of us?" he inquired, a small smile lifting up the corners of his mouth.

Not sure if he was teasing her or laughing at her, she decided he was serious. "Actually, I'd prefer a somewhat quieter line of work, although I have no idea what that might be. I don't think I could go back to a desk job and have to sit still all day long. But it would be a pleasant change to go to work wearing nice clothes and come home with them in one piece," she said ruefully.

Before Evan could respond, Bailey entered the room carrying a large silver tray loaded down with a full tea service, including plates of finger sandwiches and miniature cakes. While Bailey served refreshments, Evan and Alicia excused themselves and withdrew to a large drafting table that was set under a large bay window at the end of the room. Alicia took several large pieces of paper from her case, and the two of them bent heads over the table studying whatever was on the papers. They spoke in hushed tones and Steph, trying not to eavesdrop, contented herself with consuming a number of the tiny petit fours. They were delicious, and had Steph debating whether she liked them better than a Boston Cream doughnut. She also sampled several of the small sandwiches, each one no more than a bite or two. They weren't very substantial, though, and had Steph longing for a meatball sub from Pino's.

Just as Steph was thinking she should leave, Bailey came back into the room and cleared his throat. Evan and Alicia glanced up from their intense discussion, and Bailey informed them that the tow truck driver had arrived to take Alicia to her car and then take them back to the City.

Steph rose and said, "I should be going, too. Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Ascher."

Alicia gathered her purse and now empty portfolio case and came over to Steph. "Don't be silly," she exclaimed, clasping Steph's arm. "Stay here and finish your tea. Evan and I are finished here, and I really need to get back to the office. And Stephanie, thank you so much for stopping and giving me a ride. You not only saved my life, but saved an important business deal as well," she said, winking at Evan.

Evan joined them, saying, "Yes, please stay, my dear, and enjoy a few more of the petit fours. Bailey is very proud of them and will be offended if there are any left. I'll be back after I see that Alicia is safely on her way." Needing no encouragement to consume more sweets, Steph grabbed two of the dainty confections and wandered over to look out the window.

Evan escorted Alicia out of the room, both of them talking animatedly. While looking out the window, Steph could see Evan help Alicia up into the tow truck, giving her one of those Continental double cheek kisses before closing the truck door. Steph dropped a few crumbs of her last cake, and glanced down at the table to brush them off of the papers lying there. She was startled to see the papers were pencil renditions of fashion designs. All LBDs‑little black dresses-but each one very different. Steph was fascinated and couldn't help but look through the various designs, impressed by their uniqueness.

Evan returned in good humor and came over to stand by Steph. Embarrassed to be caught looking at something she assumed was confidential, Steph turned to go, but Evan stopped her and asked her opinion of the designs.

"I'm not qualified to critique these," she said, a little flustered. "I haven't had any experience in design beyond the courses I took in college."

"Oh, you studied fashion in college?" Evan asked.

Steph blushed, "Yes, but that was years ago, and I haven't worked in the industry, unless you count being a lingerie buyer for a two-bit company that sold discount everything."

"Well, tell me... what do you think of these," he asked, waving his hand over the designs laid out in front of them. "I want your honest appraisal, as a consumer. Surely, as a woman who enjoys fashion you have an opinion?"

Steph took a deep breath and carefully examined the five drawings of the black cocktail dresses. Finally, she pointed to one of the designs, saying, "I really like this one. It's everything a little black dress should be. Classic, flirty, sexy... and flattering to a woman's figure." She hesitated, but Evan urged her to continue.

"I also like these two dresses, but this one...ugh." She pointed to a drawing of a black leather dress with a tight, form-fitting bodice and high neckline that ended just under the chin, with a skirt that puffed out from the hips and had white lace petticoats peeking out from the scalloped hemline. "It looks like Mata Hari meets Goldilocks."

Evan threw back his head and laughed heartily. Wiping tears from his eyes, he asked, "And the others?"

"Well, this one looks like a black burlap sack with little satin bows. No woman wants to wear a sack, and the bows do nothing for the dress. In fact, they're distracting, but... maybe that's a good thing, in this case."

Evan was still grinning. "You said you liked these two. What do you like about them?"

Steph studied the remaining two designs. "This form fitting sheath is OK. It's flattering to a woman's figure without being too revealing, but it's nothing special. I probably wouldn't give it a second look if I saw it in a store. And this other one, now it has potential. I like how it accentuates the bust line, but it could do it better. Maybe a deeper dart, here," she gestured, "and here. And maybe if the skirt was a little fuller. You know, to add a little flounce. A woman likes to twirl when she dances and show a little leg. Overall," Steph pursed her lips in thought, "these two are acceptable, but they don't have the same allure that this one does." She pointed back to the first dress she had really liked.

And then she gave a little snort. "But what do I know. I'm not a fashion designer." And then she blushed. "_Omigod_, these aren't _your_ designs, are they? Because I'm sure they're all good, but... you asked for my honest opinion."

Evan laughed. "Don't worry, Stephanie. This one," he indicated the one she had really liked, "is mine. It's a new design that will be featured in my fall line. The others are from amateur designers who entered a contest. You've heard of the reality TV show, Project Catwalk?" Steph nodded.

"Well, through Alicia, my company got involved in this year's show. Each season's winner gets a year's contract working for a top fashion house. This year, the grand prize winner will work for my company. Hundreds of wannabe designers entered and the judges winnowed them down to twenty contestants who were then given a series of design challenges. After weeks of competition, there were four finalists chosen. Since the winner will work for me, I threw in one last-minute challenge: they had ten minutes to design their concept of the little black dress. These are their designs. I feel a person's true character comes out under pressure and a fashion designer is _always_ under pressure. The winner will be announced tomorrow night, so these designs had to be rushed to me, hence Alicia's desperation to get them to me today."

"Which one do you like?" Steph asked, curious as to how the famous Evan Ascher critiqued designs.

He looked down at each drawing before answering. "As you pointed out, these two are hideous. And this one is nice but safe. I like the changes you suggested for this last one, especially adding a little more fullness to the skirt. A man likes to see a little leg in his dance partner." He glanced down at her jean-clad legs and smiled.

Steph began to fidget as Evan stared intently at her. At first she thought he was going to make a pass at her, but she certainly wasn't expecting what he did next.

"Stephanie," he began, laying his hand on her shoulder, "how would you like to be my production assistant?"

Steph laughed, thinking he was joking, but Evan kept staring at her. She laughed again, nervously, and took a step back. He didn't blink or say anything. She stared right back at him, trying to gauge his level of seriousness. "You're kidding, right?" she asked.

"I'm serious. As my production assistant, you would be my right hand...um...woman. You would help me with my designs, and run my business errands for me, such as picking up correspondence from my New York office and taking my designs to the manufacturing plant and explaining any changes that are needed. I don't go in to the City much anymore."

She stared back at him until she realized he was waiting for her to say something. "You're offering me a job? As your production assistant?" she gasped, reality settling in.

"You clearly have an eye for good design. And as a bounty hunter, you must be quick thinking and able to do strategic planning. And I like you," he smiled. "The job would start out as my assistant, but it could lead to something much bigger and better."

She was still not sure if he was serious or not. And she'd heard all the rumors about sexual harassment in the fashion industry. "Yeah, from production assistant to top fashion designer. What would I really have to do? Sleep my way to the top?" she quipped.

Evan chuckled. "My dear, you are not my type. Besides, that's not how I operate. Please, think about it. My assistant Margo just quit. In fact, she was just leaving as you arrived. She's getting married to a farmer and moving to Kansas, of all places. I need someone reliable and I assure you, you won't be sitting at a desk all day long, and you can wear whatever you wish. As a bonus, my employees receive a discount on all my clothing lines. And I promise, you won't go home covered in... whatever." He waved his hand up and down from her stained t-shirt to the ripped knee of her jeans.

"I don't know. This is so sudden. And I'm not sure I really quit my bounty hunting job. I have to think about this."

"Well, don't take too much time. I can't afford to be without an assistant for very long." He began gathering up the designs and tucking them into a large cardboard folder when the phone on his desk rang. With one hand holding the folder, he picked up the phone in the other. Just then, the door opened and an older man entered the room. He came over and kissed Evan on his forehead while holding out his hand to Stephanie.

Evan was thoroughly engaged in his phone call, so the other man introduced himself. "Hello, I'm Jarrod Blakely, Evan's partner." They shook hands while Steph introduced herself. He continued, "I saw you drive up with Alicia. Are you the new production assistant? Evan has been worrying himself sick over losing Margo. He really needs someone to do all those things he forgets about, but are so necessary in running a business."

Steph hesitated. "I'm not sure. Mr. Ascher just offered me the job, but I don't know if I am the right person for the position."

"Nonsense. Evan has a special sense about people, and he wouldn't have offered you the job if he didn't feel you were perfect for what he needs."

Evan finished his call and joined the conversation. "Now, Jarrod, don't badger Stephanie. And Stephanie, please call me Evan. We don't stand on formality here, except for Bailey. He's British and takes his butlering very seriously. As for the job, think about it tonight. Maybe talk to Alicia. You know, she started out as my intern, years ago. She can tell you what it's like to work for me. And," he grinned, "she did not have to sleep her way to the top. In fact, you are more her type than mine." He glanced affectionately at Jarrod who was helping himself to several of the tea sandwiches off the tray still setting on the desk.

Steph had plunked herself back down in her chair as Evan talked, stunned to think she had a bona fide job offer working in fashion, for Evan Ascher, no less. Was she really ready to quit bounty hunting?

"I don't know..." she hesitated, still trying to absorb it all.

"You said yourself you were looking for a quieter job. And it pays a hell of a lot more than you're making now."

"How do you know what I'm making now?" she asked.

He made a point of looking out the window at her rust-pocked car parked in front of the house. Steph blushed.

"Here's my card with my direct number. Think it over and call me tomorrow. I really need you to start as soon as possible. Maybe a week from today? I think we have a brilliant future together, Stephanie." He and Jarrod walked her back down the hall to the front door and waved goodbye as she stumbled down the steps in a daze.

As she walked around the back of her car, she noticed something scratched in the dirt on her back windshield: a New York City phone number with the words, "Call me, A." Grinning, Steph slid in to her front seat and started up her old car, seeing a brand new, shiny Subaru Forester in her near future.

By the time she reached her apartment, Steph was skipping up the stairs. Of course, she'd take the job. She'd already told Vinnie she quit, hadn't she? Why not make it permanent? She couldn't wait to tell Vinnie what he could do with his lousy paying, garbage-covered, thankless job.

She burst into her apartment, singing _Take This Job And Shove It_, but stopped mid-_Shove It_ when she saw Ranger sitting on her couch. He was dressed in a black suit with a black silk shirt and tie, and he had a glass of red wine in his hand. There was a second glass, already filled with a rich dark Merlot, on the coffee table in front of him.

"Keep singing, Babe, you've got a great voice."

Surprised by his unexpected appearance in her apartment, Steph ignored his compliment. "Ranger, what are you doing here? And how did you get in... never mind. Is that for me?" she asked, pointing to the second goblet. She knew she didn't have any wine in the apartment. Heck, she didn't have any wine glasses, either. He must have brought them with him.

Forgetting how dirty she was, Steph plopped down in the armchair across from him and took the glass from his hand. She was about to spill her news, but decided to keep it to herself for a while. It still seemed so unreal. After a long gulp of wine, she asked, "How was your day?" As if they did this every day.

It had been quite a while since Ranger had found his way in to her apartment. For months, he'd been keeping his distance from her and everyone else in Trenton. It was one of the reasons she had been so bad-tempered lately. She'd missed him and was worried he might be considering leaving Jersey. There'd been rumors about RangeMan opening up offices in other states.

"My day? My day was good. In fact, it was so good, I want to celebrate," Ranger said. He raised his glass toward her and took a sip, holding her gaze over the rim of the glass. "Go get changed and we'll go out to dinner."

Her eyes widened and her mouth did the same. Instead of saying anything, she took another big gulp of wine. Ranger was asking her out to dinner? They'd eaten together plenty of times. He even taken her to a restaurant a time or two, but that had been when they were working together. This seemed different. This seemed more like an actual date.

"Shorty's?" she inquired.

"No. I have something special in mind. A real celebration," he said. "I'd like you to wear what's hanging on your bedroom door."

That aroused Steph's interest enough for her to gulp down the last of the wine and run into her bedroom. Hanging on the back of the door was a garment bag. She unzipped it to reveal a black dress. A classic little black dress. She fingered the fabric. It was a matte silk jersey that would cling to her body and be soft to the touch. She looked closer at the label and gasped. It was an Evan Ascher dress. Steph yanked it from the bag and shook it out so she could examine it. She let out another explosive gasp. It was the same dress she'd just seen on a piece of paper in Evan Ascher's home a few hours earlier. It was his new design that wasn't even in stores yet and wouldn't be until September. How in the hell did Ranger get it?

She started to go back out to the living room and ask him, but thought better of it. She'd learned not to trust coincidences, but couldn't see how Ranger could have orchestrated everything that had happened today. She needed to think. She went into the bathroom to take a quick shower. She'd been dying to wash the morning's filth off her body and decided not wait another minute. A half hour later, she was clean, made up, had on the LBD, and was ready to confront Ranger. He had some hard questions to answer.

As she entered the living room, Ranger stood up and stared at her, a look of pleasure on his face. "It's amazing how well you clean up. You are a wonder, woman. I'm glad you left your hair down. I like it curly like that. Let's go." He crooked his arm in invitation.

Steph shook her head. "Not yet. First, tell me where you got this dress."

"What does it matter? It looks great on you, and I can't wait to get you out on the dance floor." He held out his hand, but she shook her head again.

"Did you buy it here in Trenton?" she continued with her interrogation. "Or maybe in New York?"

"It was a gift. I thought you'd like it."

"I love it. I loved it when I saw the original sketch of it. But I know for a fact that it isn't in stores yet." She studied his face for any telltale clue, but Ranger's face was unreadable as usual.

"I said it was a gift. A friend of mine gave it to me. He's in the fashion industry."

"Just who is this friend of yours?"

"His name's Ash. We go way back."

"Was he in the Army with you?"

"No. I met him when I was in college. Not all my friends are military."

"College? You told me once you went to Rutgers, isn't that right?"

Ranger nodded. "I put in two years and then joined the Army. I met Ash just before I left for basic training."

Steph walked over to the window that looked out onto the back parking lot, trying to assemble all the pieces to the puzzle. As she gazed out the window, she said, "I went to Douglass College, but attended several seminars at Rutgers. One of those was a fashion seminar given by Evan Ascher. Does that name ring a bell?" She didn't turn around, just waited for him to answer.

"That's Ash, my friend. Small world."

"And getting smaller by the minute, Batman," she muttered. In a louder voice, she said, "This dress was designed by Evan Ascher."

"Like I said, Ash is a friend of mine. When I told him I was going out to celebrate with someone special, he gave me the dress."

He came up behind her and put his hands on her hips, leaning in close. "You smell great, Babe." He buried his nose in her mass of curls that framed her face and cascaded down her back. She could smell Bulgari and Ranger; the combination was intoxicating. She tried to pull away, but Ranger wrapped his arms around her waist.

Distracted but still determined to get to the bottom of things, Steph started to tell him about meeting Evan earlier that day, but Ranger spoke first. "It looks like it's going to rain. It rained in D.C. this morning. I was there, closing out a business deal. It was my very first business contract and one I'm happy to be done with. It's why I want to celebrate. And I want to celebrate with you, Stephanie. Now, can we go?"

Just then, there was a sharp _craaack_ of thunder that shook the window pane and then lightning lit up the sky. Within seconds, a torrential downpour started. Steph watched as sheets of rain blocked her view of the cars parked below. "Alicia's number," she muttered, a hint of regret in her voice.

"What's that, Babe?" Ranger asked, leaning down close to nibble on her ear.

"Someone I met today, she wrote her telephone number for me in the dirt on my car," Steph said, in a quiet voice. "Now, it's gone. Washed away."

Thinking back to another summer day and another phone number scratched in dirt on a car window, Steph slowly turned around and faced Ranger. She was finally going to ask the question she'd wanted to ask him for years. _Why hadn't he ever called?_

He was staring at her intently, as if seeing her for the first time. In a quiet voice, he said, "That happened to me once, many years ago. I thought I'd lost something crucial. It changed the course of my life."

There was another crack of thunder and the rain came down even harder. Suddenly, it dawned on her _why_ he had never called her.

He kept looking at her, especially at her eyes. She couldn't look away and stared up into his chocolate brown eyes.

He continued where he left off. "But tonight is all about getting back on track. Everything is coming back together again. And it starts with this..." he told her as he pulled an envelope out of his inner jacket pocket. He handed it to her.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Open it."

She pulled two airline tickets from the envelope. "Bo...Bod...Bodrum?" she stared at the tickets, a puzzled look on her face. "I've never heard of it."

"It's a small seaside village in Turkey. Where the color of the sea is a magical hue of the most brilliant blue imaginable. They call it Bodrum blue. Like the color of your eyes, Babe." He ran the backs of his fingers along her cheek as he gazed at her.

Steph's blue eyes widened and she stared directly into his eyes. She was speechless. She'd never heard anything so poetic come from the man of mystery before. And then there were the tickets to...Turkey?

"Why Turkey?" she asked.

"I've always wanted to go there, ever since my cousin Tomás told me about it. He's the reason I became a Ranger. Well, one of the reasons. The other was an unexpected thunderstorm that I thought had washed away all of my dreams." He bent down to kiss her, but Steph put her hands on his chest.

"I don't understand any of this, Ranger."

"I'll tell you all about it, on the flight to Bodrum. Now, can we go to dinner? I'm hungry." This time he kissed her, in spite of her weak protests. When he lifted his head, he sported a 200-watt smile. "Or maybe we can stay here and..."

**The End or Just The Beginning**


End file.
